Grass

Oh the dirt will scream The mountains will cry And their souls won't speak Because they'll be tongue-tied They'll be wondering why As they hear the faint sigh As it falls; once so tall. Cut down now; forced to crawl. My voice will be heard, Independent and clear. This won't ever be over Until our Earth is set free. Death is small But life is at large. This, in the raw, Means that life is so hard. (Don't make it harder.) Oh the dirt will scream, The mountains will cry, And their souls won't speak Because they'll be tongue-tied. (Look what you've done.) Black crows fill the sky Make the day as black as night Dirty air fills your lungs Dirty broken air: what you become. Yes, it is alive. It breathes, even in the night. Teeming and wreathing, it climbs, Stretches, and whines. Like you, It doesn't want to die, Beautiful creature of Creator's design Can't be confined, or owned, Or truly defined. There's a thread with your name on it, woven into the open sky, And the clouds remember how they caught this Phenomenon as it floated by.